In the Shadow of Winter

by Lorna Gray

The music stopped. I was glad to be released. I only had to resist the urge to wipe my hands clean of his contaminating contact. ‘Sir William knows more than you think, old man.’ Simon’s words echoed in my head and I stared at my partner with new eyes and new trepidation.

  I gave him a smile that was perfectly unambiguous, “I always do, Sir William.”

  “Good girl. Your father would be proud of you I’m sure. He was a good friend to me, you know, a very good friend.” The band started up again and he nodded towards the wings. “I think I should sit this one out. That’s the wonderful thing about being old, you can say and do whatever you like and no one dares to pass comment … Ah, and with perfect timing here is the man himself. John – come and save your pretty little friend from the confused wanderings of a foolish old man. Goodbye, my dear.”

  And with that he walked off, leaving me to meet the quick interrogative gaze of his nephew alone.

  Chapter 21

  It was a long while before the tumult of my own mind faded enough for me to notice that the mind of my partner might not be any more composed than mine. But suddenly I was very aware that my partner’s steps were stilted, the hands now guiding me around the dance were hard and unyielding, and when I glanced up into his face, I was startled to be met by eyes made grey by cold and consuming fury.

  He blinked himself out of his thoughts and caught my gaze. A smile touched his lips that was devoid of any mirth but when he spoke it was carefully light and teasing. “Nice of you to swan off onto the dance floor when you knew that Father was working himself up into his usual fury. What were you two talking about anyway? It can’t have been particularly pleasant judging by the expression on your face.”

  Wisely I held my tongue. He would not thank his uncle, I think, for trying to force his suit and I had no intention of discovering whether John believed there was a suit to be made.

  John frowned. “You mean to keep it to yourself, I see.”

  “Oh John,” I said with a sigh, reading the danger signs and knowing that he wasn’t far from one of his pettish rages. Normally I greeted his little tantrums with affectionate understanding but at this particular moment, with my head full of his uncle’s unspeakable bargain, I was dangerously close to throwing a tantrum of my own.

  He continued in a sulky monotone; “I see that I’m going to have to leave it to my imagination to decide what could have possibly held you so enthralled.”

  I sighed again. Sometimes I felt more like his mother than his friend. “Actually, John, I can tell you something of what we spoke about.” I waited while he arrogantly swung me into another turn before continuing; “Sir William believes my house to be an example of mouldering decay. Who could have given him that idea, I wonder?”

  He blinked and then smiled, his anger evaporating in the face of mine. “Ah. Sorry. I gather he was not very sympathetic.”

  “Oh no, he was perfectly sympathetic, John,” I said sweetly. “What I want to know is what possessed you to tell him about my, and I quote, ‘deteriorating circumstances’?”

  “Oh Ellie, I am sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t want to upset you, I really didn’t.” He smiled with uncomplicated charm as he led me, more gently this time, into another turn. “And anyway, don’t be unhappy, it’s easily remedied after all.”

  “It is?” I asked, very cautiously indeed.

  “Of course it is, Ellie. Why don’t you borrow one of my men for a day? I meant to suggest this when I nearly landed on the floor after that dining chair collapsed but it slipped my mind. You told me that you’re selling your father’s car – how much will you get for it if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I waited while he steered me past a rather sluggish couple before answering, “Fifty pounds.”

  “Well then!” he said cheerfully. “You’ll be perfectly able to pay his wages then, won’t you?”

  I took a breath before saying with a careful smile, “Thank you, John. You’re very generous, but it won’t be necessary.”

  He frowned again, his voice now tinged with exasperated humour. “There is no need to answer me like that, Miss Disdain; you know full well if I’d offered my man for nothing, you would have been even more offended. You never let anyone help you, not even me, and you’re just too damned proud to admit that you can’t always cope alone.”

  The frustration in his words was palpable and the stupid thing about it was that he was right; I would not have liked him to have made a gift of the man’s time. But was it pride alone that made me fiercely preserve my independence even to the point of rudeness? Or was it from the sheer impossibility of a spinster daring to be indebted to a man; even to one who was as old a friend as John?

  Being a single woman of dubious financial standing and therefore vulnerable to the very worst of social judgements, I had always worked hard to retain my integrity. One of my guiding principles had always been a rigid aversion to obligation, it had been one of the few things I had managed to stand fast to throughout all the past years of solitude. And now, when that same friend’s uncle appeared to have taken to striking untenable bargains in his name, it suddenly seemed that I had every cause to be thankful.

  No, definitely not just pride. Self-preservation.

  Perhaps rather unkindly I swallowed the apology that had formed on my lips and said instead, “Actually the chair was repaired yesterday.” I gave him a teasing smile, “You see – my circumstances are not so much in a decline as you believed, are they?”

  “Hmmm,” was his grudging reply, concentrating instead on leading us safely through a press of dancers. I felt a little pang of guilt for goading him when he clearly wasn’t having a very pleasant time of it with his father but although I felt sorry I couldn’t help hoping that having survived Sir William’s manoeuvring and his bad humour I might now finally be due some respite of my own. But unfortunately for us both, nothing ever seemed to quite go as it should.

  As we floated into an uneasy truce and another dance I became uncomfortably aware that the Colonel was watching us again with blatant displeasure etched across his crimson features. We moved on, whirling deeper into the crush of dancers so that the blur of angry redness was lost for the moment, and I hoped fervently that my partner hadn’t noticed – his head had been turned towards the band as we swung past. It was a futile wish of course.

  John betrayed his awareness by fixing me with a glowing smile that ought to have melted my bones, but didn’t, and then he allowed his hand to drift slightly lower on my back. I stepped away, forcing him to lift his hand and giving him a sternly disapproving look, but as soon as I stepped back into his grasp again, his hand began to creep once more.

  I would normally have felt sympathetic solidarity at the realisation that if I found the two old men, the Colonel and his uncle, and their meddling difficult, my feelings were nothing compared to his. Nothing he ever did was allowed to go unobserved and even the matters of his heart were not free from their unwarranted and damaging interference. But another turn brought another glimpse of the Colonel’s face glowing pink from the side-lines and, with a bright merry laugh as if I had made a joke, John held me closer. I resisted and pulled away but his hand tightened authoritatively on my waist, showing that he was fully aware of what he was doing and, equally clearly, taking a rather malevolent pleasure in it.

  This was too much. Sympathy evaporated and conscience asserted itself so that I stopped dead, insensible to the startled looks from the other dancers and fixed him with a deathly stare that I hoped would put an end to his antics. My voice was tight and sharp as I said, “I would like a drink. Shall we go and find some more punch?”

  He indicated his agreement and tried to slip his hand around my waist as he followed me from the floor.

  “John Langton, are you actually trying to seduce me?” I said, softening the stern tone with an exasperated laugh.

  “Is it working?”

  I glowered at him, wishing that I had been truly stern and marched ahead towards the punchbowl. Typically,
and perfectly matching the way this evening had gone so far, I saw his father move to intercept us, and as soon as he arrived, barking: “John? What the devil are you playing at?” I simply handed John a glass and left him to face his father’s wrath on his own.

  Refusing to feel remotely guilty about abandoning him this time, I marched off with the intention of resuming my hunt for the girl that I had faintly recognised. But before I could break through the crush to find her, I heard someone speak my name and felt a light touch upon my arm. “Miss Phillips?”

  I turned to face him with every outward sign of unvarying delight at the prospect of yet another attack on my tranquillity, and even managed a decent show of surprise. “Inspector! What are you doing here?”

  His eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “Even policemen are allowed a night off, Miss Phillips. I’m here with my wife; she’s over there somewhere chatting to Mrs Sir William – I can never remember her name. They were at school together back in the last Ice Age and these sort of social gatherings are vital to their friendship, or so I’m told.”

  I had to laugh at that. “So you’re telling me you’re off duty? I don’t believe it for a moment. You’ll be catching me unawares in a minute and getting me to confess to some heinous crime that I don’t even remember committing.”

  “That’s your guilty conscience speaking,” he said coolly, and I wasn’t entirely sure he was joking. Then he smiled and the kindly crinkles reappeared. “How is Freddy? He seems like a good boy.”

  “He is,” I said confidently. There was a momentary glimpse of Sir William beyond the crowd and as the press of people moved and shifted again, I caught him staring. He gave a satisfied little tilt of his head before turning away.

  “And are you having a nice evening, Miss Phillips?” The Inspector spoke in a kindly tone that thankfully showed he was oblivious to the words which were raging savagely in my head. “Who did you come with?”

  “I came with John Langton,” I said, feeling horribly like I had been caught out on a lie. “Although I’m beginning to regret it.”

  “Regret it? How so?” He looked only politely interested, but there was an almost audible click as the policeman came back on duty and I had the distinct impression that something was riding on my answer. I could not even begin to fathom what that was.

  I smiled. “I’ve somehow managed to feature in a family row as the gold-digging baggage. Not a part I intended to play, I assure you. So I drifted over this way in order to declare my non-mercenary intentions. In fact to wholly convince you of my innocence I will admit that my devious plan is to introduce John to … that girl over there, who I hope can be counted on to divert all attention her way.”

  The Inspector turned to look at the woman in question. “A most interesting prospect,” he observed dryly, “I wish you luck with your diversion.” He turned back to me and for a moment I wondered if he was intending to say something else but then he simply gave me one of his farewell nods and walked quickly away to reclaim his wife.

  Thankfully John was nowhere to be seen as I finally made my way over to where Sophie was standing. She was watching the dancing with absorbed interest while the older couple beside her sipped their drinks and kept up a steady flow of chatter over her head without seeming to pause once for thought or breath. I think I joined them somewhere between a debate on the delights of the decorations and the extraordinary lightness of the wine.

  “Sophie? Sophie Green?” I said as I approached.

  She turned and looked me up and down before finally settling on peering closely into my face. “Ellie? Oh my, I didn’t recognise you!”

  There was a whisper of sophistication and a gentle waft of her fragrance as we daintily air-kissed cheek to cheek before, linking her arm affectionately through mine, she led me away to a less crowded corner.

  “How are you? I’m fine, though sick of this winter, of course. Did you hear that Sammy got killed? Devastating, isn’t it. Oh and poor Carrie got into trouble, if you know what I mean – with an American! You aren’t married, are you? Last I heard you were stepping out with that man, whatshisname – Matthew Croft, that’s right. But isn’t he the one they’re all after? That must feel a bit odd, mustn’t it? To think you’ve been kissing a murderer! Only of course that was years ago, before the War. Which no one seems to want to talk about either. Have you noticed that? You’ve changed, haven’t you? David says that I still look just like I did when we were at school but I guess when a person works outside all the time like you do, one would look older. That’s a pretty frock, don’t I recognise it? Mine’s new – do you like it? – David only bought it for me last week; got it from a spiv in London of course, clothing vouchers get absolutely nothing in the shops, do they.” She paused to draw breath.

  I should explain at this point that Sophie was my friend at school, or to be more accurate, we caught the school bus together on the run down to Gloucester. She was the sort of friend that thought you were wonderful and admired the ribbons in your hair (though not as nice as hers of course) right up to the school gates. Then of course you miraculously became ‘just a girl from the next village’. This all sounds terribly like bitterness but that’s not what I mean. I liked Sophie, I just didn’t bother to pay much attention to what she said, that’s all.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Sophie. You look well.”

  “So who did you come with?” Suddenly she focused on me and I could tell she was having the age old worry of whether or not she would still have the best. She peered round the room as if she might spot my partner just by his appearance, perhaps she was looking for a tell-tale trail of manure. “David couldn’t come, he’s still away on a business trip. We’re getting married in April. Did you know that?”

  “Congratulations,” I said cheerfully without even a trace of the envy she hoped for. “A spring wedding, how lovely.”

  “So who are you here with?” She wasn’t going to be deflected.

  “Ah John, let me introduce Sophie Green. Sophie is an old school friend. Sophie, this is John Langton. He’s from the Manor.” John had shown his usual panache for turning up whenever he was being talked about and was now standing with a palpable air of martyrdom beside me. I felt a momentary wave of guilt for abandoning him, but only for a second.

  Sophie seemed to grow about two inches as she greeted him and, if it were possible, her dress actually shrank across her breasts. John eyed her appreciatively over the rim of his glass and I suppressed a smile. Stage one of my diversion campaign appeared to have been a success.

  Stage two got well underway even as I watched.

  “I’ve heard of you, of course,” she purred. She was smiling her lovely big smile and I felt it would only take another comment like that for John to forget me completely. She always did this whenever in the company of an attractive man, particularly if that man was loosely connected to someone else. I don’t believe that she ever did it maliciously; she just naturally exuded an alluring feminine loveliness that delighted in tempting susceptible men into flirting with her only to then show them that their hopes were exaggerated, and that she was still very definitely out of their league. Flirtatious she might be, but she certainly was no fool and it would do John good, I thought, if he were humbled a little by one such as her.

  “Of course…” John smiled suddenly, his lethal bright handsome smile designed to make the recipient’s heart miss a beat, and at that instant even I could appreciate why women fell at his feet with alarming regularity. “Have you danced yet?”

  Sophie beamed at him, “I haven’t actually. But aren’t you with Ellie? Would you mind very much if I stole him, Ellie? Just for a minute, naturally.”

  I smiled happily, “Oh don’t mind me. I’m starving. I barely had time for lunch today what with all the mucking out and things. I’ll go and see what there is.” This was a bit of a lie but, I felt, perfectly reasonable under the circumstances.

  John held his hand out to her and, carelessly thrusting his empty glass into m
y hands, swept her off without so much as a backwards glance. Just before they disappeared into the crowd I thought I heard her say:

  “Poor dear. I bet she’ll be glad of a bit of free food, if what I heard is true. Not exactly plump, is she?”

  And John’s bright laugh drifted back at me over the music and the crowd’s noisy chatter.

  Chapter 22

  It was irritating that the success of my little plan did nothing to improve my mood. I had an overwhelming urge to just go home, but the flaw with dressing up in a flimsy frock, stockings and satin shoes is that the option of walking far is rather firmly closed, so instead I had to console myself with wandering about in reflective solitude. But at least I finally had some peace and I drifted my way through the rooms in a haze of relative contentment until at last I found the buffet table.

  The array was spectacular, and looked worthy of a pre-war party rather than the restricted menu of the ration book. I wondered if Sir William’s whims bent to a little black-market dealing and picked up something that looked temptingly like a sausage roll, but in the event – and proving once and for all that he had paid for nothing but the innocent talents of a good caterer – tasted strongly of cauliflower. I have always hated cauliflower.

  As I reached for a pastry something-or-other I accidentally brushed hands with Mrs Woods, the Inspector’s wife, who was still being talked to death by Mrs Sir William. The lady’s voice was as steady and somnolent as her husband’s and as carrying as the Colonel’s, so that I couldn’t help but overhear:

  “Oh my dear, I’m so tired that I might not last the night. Would you believe we’ve been either out or entertaining almost every day for the past month.”

  “You poor thing, so very tiresome,” murmured her friend with ready sympathy as she reached for a dainty morsel.

  “It is, it truly is. I never get even a moment’s peace. In fact, just this morning as I was taking breakfast we had the news that whatshisname – that awful man, you know the one they’re all looking for – broke in to one of my husband’s barns last night. He was scavenging for food, we think.” She selected a misshapen morsel and cautiously nibbled at it before changing her mind and depositing it onto a vacant tray. Perhaps it too had contained cauliflower. “A sign that he’s getting desperate I suppose; he’s probably starving by now and thought he would chance his luck … Oh, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you, Bill told me not to speak of it!”